


Daisies and Tulips

by maevesdarling



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevesdarling/pseuds/maevesdarling
Summary: In which Charles is the owner of a small flower shop and Arthur stumbles right into his shop (and his heart) when he asks him to help Arthur learn the language of flowers for a painting. Sparks fly between them but will Arthur dare to love again? And what about Charles?(...)The ringing of the bell startled Charles from his thoughts. "One moment please!" He called out from the back of the shop, not taking his eyes off of the enormous flower bouquet that stood on the wooden table in front of him. (...)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a flower shop AU, so here it is! Hope you guys enjoy reading, there will be a second part, lots of misunderstandings but also lots of kisses. Sorry this turned into a slow burn fic
> 
> Tumblr: maevesdarling

The ringing of the bell startled Charles from his thoughts. "One moment please!" He called out from the back of the shop, not taking his eyes off of the enormous flower bouquet that stood on the wooden table in front of him. It was a masterpiece, with huge white lily's and red tulips poking out in the center, around it sat a bunch of small daisy's and jasmine, the perfect bouquet for a wedding, he had spend hours talking to the couple that had requested it, consulting them about preferences and any known allergies. Now that it was finished, it was a declaration of love, all put together in a bouquet. 

He knew the language of flowers by heart. Rain Falls had teached him when he started working at his shop a couple of years ago. He was a different man back then.

Angry at the world, disappointed by life, violent. After his mum had disappeared when he was still a boy and his dad started drinking and became more and more violent towards him, he couldn't take it anymore and fled. Left home on a rainy night with exactly 200 dollar cash he had saved for almost a year, a folded picture of him and his mum, safely secured in a coat pocket and the clothes on his body. The next few months, he spend most of the money on food and shelter, slept on the street and got into fights regularly. He couldn't keep any jobs for long and traveled from town to town, always stumbling into some trouble along the way. The scar on his chin and cheek plus the one through his eyebrow were still there, a constant reminder of his past. He remembered waking up after a particularly nasty fight, he had tried to rob a man behind some mini mart, his opponent had used a bottle to fight him off, the damned thing exploded in his face and knocked him out cold. He woke up groaning in pain. His money was gone, so was the attacker. There was the feeling of blood sipping down his chin, one eye was swollen shut and his nose felt broken. Charles shuddered at the memory. He hid behind a dumpster that night, with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, he was cold and terrified and in pain. No sleep would come to him in that night. 

Two days later he had tried to rob the little flower shop he had stumbled upon. The owner was old, native american, just like him, and seemingly alone. So he marched in, held the knife he stole in a restaurant kitchen earlier, up into the man's face and told him to hand him all his money. Rain Falls looked at him with pity written all over his face and told him to put the knife down, he motioned him to follow him into the small kitchen area in the back of the shop, gave him something to eat and drink. They talked. 

By the end of the day, Charles had a place to stay, a job and a new perspective. It felt like centuries had passed since that, in reality it was only little over four years. Rain Falls had given the shop to him last summer, the man was too old to keep it running by himself and his son Eagle Flies was busy doing his own thing, but he promised to visit regularly and so Charles was in charge of ordering new plants, planning bouquets and occasionally doing workshops in the back with a bunch of housewives and other shop owners. Hell, he even had his own employees now. 

Mary-Beth was a gentle woman, thin, with brown hair and a beautiful face, always daydreaming or writing into a notebook. She claimed to be a writer, although Charles had never read a single paragraph from her. Nevertheless, she did good work in the shop, always on time and smiling at the costumers. Sean on the other hand, he was harder to handle. Born in Ireland the man had moved to America with his pa when he was a teen. He died and Sean had to take care of himself. He was a loudmouth, loved to annoy his colleagues and had no green thumb whatsoever. But Charles respected him. Not only for his similar background, but for his ability to talk anyone into buying their flowers. He talked like a waterfall and didn't stopped until the person wasn't carrying at least three different pots back to their car.

Charles was happy to have both of them. He still worked most days and even if he had the day off he spend it mostly on going out to study wild flowers or visit other flower shops to find new inspirations. It wasn't exiting, but it made him happy.

All in all, his life was good for Charles. 

Heavy footsteps let the floorboards creak and reminded Charles of the costumer waiting at the front. He was alone today, Sean was visiting relatives in Connemara over the weekend and Mary-Beth was sick with the flu. Charles didn't minded, it was a rather low day, not many costumers went to buy flowers, especially not on a rainy autumn day like today. 

"Hi, how can I help you?" He rounded the corner and almost stopped dead in his tracks when he laid his eyes on the man standing in the middle of the small shop because damn, he was handsome. Really handsome.

He had full, soft looking brown hair that framed his head and a stubble that almost concealed the twin scars on his chin. He was about the same height as Charles, with strong shoulders that looked well muscled, the blue button down shirt he wore did little to hide them. He must be an athlete, Charles thought absentmindedly as gentle blue eyes focussed on him and full pink lips parted to ask "Oh, Hello. I was looking for some flowers, could you maybe help me?"

And Charles tried to switch into professionalism and turned his eyes away to focus on the flowers instead. "Of course, sir. Let's see what I can do. So what kind of flowers do you have in mind?" The man looked confused. "Yeah well that's the problem. See, I don't know shit about flowers. I was commissioned to do a painting with lots of them in it, but I have no idea what flowers to use." He looked a bit lost and shuffled from one foot to another. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, so your an artist?" He asked trying to sound causal. Handsome and an artist? Damn why was this man so dreamy? 

"Yeah, Arthur Morgan." He held out his hand. "Charles Smith." Charles took it, feeling the gentle but slightly callused hand in his. "Wait, are you Arthur Morgan, the painter? I- I saw the posters, your doing an exhibition at the gallery down the street." Arthur frowned slightly. "Yup. That's me, got talked into it by a fellow artist friend. The final piece is a commission. My dad requested it. It's supposed to be a surprise anniversary gift for my other dad." He fished in his jacket and pulled out a crumpled picture. "Here, that's them on their wedding day." He pointed at a dark haired man with a faint mustache on his face. Blue eyes were crinkled with laughter and he wore an expensive looking suit and even a top hat. Next to him stood an older man dressed in a similar fashion, minus the hat, with short blonde hair and hazel eyes. He looked a bit older, but definitely just as handsome. A younger Arthur stood besides them with another boy. The other boy was frowning and looking at Arthur in anger one of his fists half raised. Charles laughed to himself at the hilariously of the picture. Arthur didn't seemed to mind. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. 

"Mhm okay let's see. So your… dad is blonde?" "No, he's the raven haired one, Dutch van der Linde." 

"Alright so Dutch has black hair and blueish eyes? Red would bring out both. And your other dad-?"

"Hosea, my father's name is Hosea."

"Okay, Hosea seems like a blonde to me. I'd say we pick some blue flowers for him. You said it's an anniversary, may I ask you what kind of anniversary?"

"It's their wedding anniversary." Charles was already making a bouquet in his mind, with lots of hundred leaved roses and jasmine in it. "So you want me to make a bouquet that you can draw or-"

Arthur put the picture away slowly and looked at him. Charles could feel his cheeks heating up at the brunettes intense stare. "Actually, I was hoping I could help you with it. I want to see the flowers, do sketches of them, get the textures right, you know. Maybe you can tell me a bit about them, their secret meanings and stuff like that." 

"Oh, well I normally do workshops once a month, but… I think I'll make an exception for you." Arthur smiled sincerely, making Charles heart race. "Thanks partner." 

They spend the rest of the evening in the back of the shop, laughing and occasionally sipping some wine Charles took from the kitchen. It was a cheerful atmosphere. Charles told Arthur everything he knew about the flowers he had picked for the painting. Arthur was doodling away in a small leather bound book nodding along to what Charles told him, the brunettes tongue would poke out from time to time when he focussed on getting a specific detail right and Charles wished he could wake up to the view of this beautiful, talented man sitting in Charles bed, sketching into his sketchbook while Charles was dousing next to him. Of course this would never happen.

It was way past closing time, only a tiny light still flickered in the small room. It smelled distantly like roses and wine. 

"Okay okay, here's another one, this" He held up a beautiful pearl white narcissus. "This is a narcissus. It stands for pride." He fidgeted the flower in his hands, handing it over to Arthur. The man took it in his hands and stroked a thumb over the delicate petals before handing it back. Their fingers brushed accidentally against each other, making Charles pull away swiftly. His heart was hammering so loudly in his chest he feared Arthur might hear it. They were both feeling a bit tipsy from the bottle of wine they had shared between them. "Pride huh? I like that." Arthur said without looking up from his journal. He was holding it so that Charles couldn't see what he was drawing, but the longer he took the more curious Charles got. 

"Watcha drawing?" He asked curiousity taking the best of him, startling Arthur. "I uh-, nothing." He quickly closed the book and checked his watch. "Oh my. It's getting late I probably should go home. I think I got what I needed." He hastily grabbed his coat and made his way through the shop. "Wait, Arthur, I'm sorry for asking I wasn't-"

"It's not that. It's-" He rubbed a hand through his face. "I had lots of fun with you tonight. Thank you for the hospitality, Charles." With that he pulled the door open making the doorbell ring loudly. "I'm sure the painting will be extraordinary. I- Take care, Arthur." He called after the man who waved at him before he disappeared into the darkness. Charles closed the door slowly before he let his head fall against the wooden frame. "Smith you goddamn idiot."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year folks, here's the second chapter. I'm sorry for the angst towards the end but I wanted some drama before we're getting all smooch-y in the next chapter. 
> 
> In other news, I used to be an intern at a gallery in Dublin so I know a thing or two about gallery openings and hangings and all that stuff. The gallery might be the same I described in the chapter whoops hope you enjoy.

One week later and Charles had almost forgot about the sudden end of his meeting with Arthur Morgan. That was until a letter arrived at the shop. He recognized the fine handwriting in an instant, his throat going dry when he turned the envelope in his hands. That was until Sean snatched it out of his hands, laughing.

"Oi, Smith! Wot is that? Got yourself a sweetheart while I was gone?" The irishman's eyes flew over the envelope. "Huh, Arthur Morgan, isn't that the guy with the paintings down ta street? They're having a big opening tomorrow." Charles tried to get the envelope back but Sean ducked out of his reach, his fingertips feeling the envelope. "There's a card in here. I bet yer lover boy is inviting yer to come." He laughed wholeheartedly. "Na, I'm just messing with you. Here." Finally the redhead seemed to grow tired of their little game and handed him the envelope back with a wink. Charles could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "He's not- we're not-" He sighed. "It's not like that, Sean."

"Sure. Whatever you say, boss." Sean waved him off and walked towards the counter to give him some privacy, he opened the cash register and busied himself with counting the money.

Charles opened the envelope, pulling folded piece of paper and a card out. He read the paper first.

_Dear Charles,_

_I wanted to thank you again for all your help with the painting. It's coming along really nice and I hope to present it to my father in a few days at the gallery. It would be a great pleasure for me if you'd be there as well and explain some of the meanings behind the flowers, I'm not sure if I could still get all of them right and I don't want to mess them up. I included a ticket for the opening day of my exhibition. It's bring your own booze I'm afraid. Please Charles, let me thank you again, in person._

_Arthur Morgan_

He read those words over and over, feeling his legs turn to jelly. Arthur wanted him to be at the exhibition's opening! The doorbell rang and he quickly let the letter disappear in a coat pocket before going back to work.

It was hard to concentrate for the rest of the day, his mind kept wandering back to the letter and to Arthur's words. He tried his best to help the costumers and excused himself to go into the back and work on a flower bouquet. Sean came in to talk some time later, he made some jokes and apologized for stealing Charles mail, he also offered to open the shop tomorrow so that Charles could check out the gallery. Charles tried to tell him no, but in the end he nodded with a small smile. They cleaned the shop together in the evening before Charles closed it off and took the bus home. It wasn't far, just a few streets down, he could have walked but he decided it was a bit too cold.

The lights flickered on in the small apartment. He shuffled out of his coat and shoes and made his way into his bedroom to go through his closet to find something nice to wear to the gallery. It wasn't a fancy gallery, just two rooms and a room upstairs for workshops, he'd been there before to do workshops when there had been constructions going on in the shop. But still Charles felt the strong urge to look presentable.

He picked out a dark blue shirt with lighter dots and held it into himself in the mirror. It looked good on him, really soft. He didn't wanted to be too fancy so he decided to take it. Smiling, he went to make himself some dinner and ran himself a hot bath, enjoying the quietness of his own apartment. He imagined Arthur's strong arms coming up from behind him to hug him, his head would be pillowed on Charles shoulder and he'd ask him what was for dinner.

The half native american shook his head. He needed to stop these thoughts from coming. Arthur and him wasn't going to be a thing.

He went to bed, setting his alarm for 7am, after all Sean had promised to unlock the shop in the morning. The irishman would take good care of the shop, Charles was sure of that.

He snuggled deeper into the cushions and closed his eyes. His mind drifted off to sleep, the thought of a pair of calloused hands around his middle and a face pressing into the crook of his neck was the last thing that came to his mind before he fell asleep.

He's woken up by the ringing of his alarm on the next day. Groaning he shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He took extra long to get ready, braided his hair and shaved some of the stubble off his face. Despite his best efforts he felt nervous making breakfast and decided for a small bowl of porridge with some fresh fruits, raspberries and blueberries and a drizzle of honey and cinnamon.

He took the bus to the shop and had a quick chat with Sean until the irishman practically shoved him back onto the street, reassuring that everything was fine and he should go and enjoy the gallery. So Charles swallowed the lump in his throat down and walked down the street until he was standing in front of the grey gallery's facade. A couple of posters were hanging in the front window, a young woman sat outside writing on a chalkboard. "Grand opening today! 1pm" It read.

Charles checked his watch, only half an hour to go. It looked like there were a few people already inside but he decided to wait until the opening had started and went to the coffee shop next door to get himself a small cappuccino.

When he checked his watch again it was just short after one pm.

He exited the coffee shop and walked back outside. Two elderly men were in the process of walking into the gallery so he followed them. It was warm inside. Lots of different people were standing around looking at the paintings. Music was playing. Nothing Charles usually listened to but he enjoyed it nevertheless.

Charles spend some time walking around. He looked at all the different paintings. Some had prices on them, some were already sold by the looks of it. And then he spotted the painting he helped Arthur to draw.

It was beautiful. His parents stood in the middle of a forest, flowers blossoming everywhere around them. They gazed into each other's eyes, arms locked around each other. "It's amazing, thank you so much Arthur." A voice suddenly said next to Charles. It was one of the men he had entered the shop with and now Charles finally recognized him. Hosea, Arthur's father.

The painter had come up next to Hosea and squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks father it means a lot to me I-" His face lit up when he spotted Charles. "Oh! Mister Smith! I'm so glad you came. Hosea, this is the man I told you about." Charles could feel his face heating up. Arthur had talked about him to his parents?

"Pleasure to meet you, mister Smith." Hosea smiled kindly. "So, Arthur told me that all these flowers had different meanings. Can you enlighten me? This buffoon here can't remember." He joked pointing at Arthur. Charles laughed. "Of course, so the big white ones are daisies. They mean pure love and the smaller white ones are jasmine, they stand for faithfulness." He continued explaining all the different flowers to Arthur's father who seemed honestly interested, after some time, a third man joined them. He gently took Hosea's hand into his and kissed him on the cheek. "You like it?"

"I love it, Dutch. Did you know that every single flower in this painting has a meaning?" Dutch shook his head and Charles explained them a second time.

By the time he was finished the music had changed to something modern. More and more people were streaming in and out of the gallery. A family entered, the small son storm towards Arthur squealing happily when he was thrown into the air. "Uncle Arthur! Mummy brought you a present!" The child said loudly. His mother shook her head with a laugh and handed the artist a bottle of wine. "It's homemade." She quickly handed it over and then grabbed the boy's hand before he could touch any of the paintings on the wall.

A few hours into the opening and Charles had realized he hadn't talked to Arthur at all, except for the time he had introduced him to his parents. His eyes searched for Arthur in the ground of people. He found him standing with a dark haired man. He was wearing an expensive suit. His face shimmered with the hint of make up. "Ah, there you are, mon ami!" The stranger said in a heavy french accent. Charles stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the man leaning over and leaving a kiss on Arthur's cheek. His stomach dropped.

He suddenly felt the strong urge to leave, feeling incredibly dumb. Of course Arthur was seeing someone. He exited the gallery without being spotted and walked down the street, hands burried in his pockets. His head was spinning, his breath coming fast. He knew he had no chance in dating Arthur, but seeing him with another man hurted.

The half native american went home and let himself flop down onto his couch. He stared into the room, drifting in and out of his thoughts. Today was not a good day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done, thank you all for reading I had a lot of fun writing this story!!! 
> 
> Tumblr: maevesdarling

"Charles! I'm so glad you made it." Arthur held out his hand to the french man who swatted it away and went in for a kiss on each of Arthur's cheeks. "Is this how you greet an old friend, mon ami?" The artist cringed a little when he rubbed the faint lipstick stains from his cheeks.

"Sorry. Why are you dressed up like this?"

"This?" Charles Châtenay gestured down to his expensive looking suit and make-up. "A disguise, old friend." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "From whom?"

"Lots of people." Charles said mysteriously. "These paintings are fantastique. Stupéfiant."

Arthur sighed. "English please, Charles."

"Mon ami, you did an amazing job." He patted Arthur's back taking a sip from the expensive wine he had brought. His eyes zeroed in on the person who had just entered the gallery, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. "Who's this?" The freshman asked in a thick accent. "Huh? Oh that's Albert Mason, another friend of mine." Charles nodded, drowned the wine in one big gulp and staggered towards the photographer. "Ah! You must be Albert-" The rest of his sentence went down in the cacophony of noises around them. Arthur watched the people around him for some time.

His parents were sitting on a set of chairs in a corner of the room, Dutch had one arm around Hosea's shoulders. They talked gently with each other seemingly unaware of the party around them. Then there was his nephew Jack who was sleeping in his father's arms. John and Abigail took their time to take in all the different paintings, hands interwined. Occasionally John leaned in to kiss his wife's neck.

He spotted some more of his friends. Lenny and Bill and Javier who stood by the small table of booze that people had brought with them and had, what looked like a drinking contest. Arthur rolled his eyes. Tilly and her husband were sitting on a set of chairs next to Hosea and Dutch, with Tilly resting a hand on her pregnant belly. Charles Châtenay was trying to flirt with Albert Mason, after trying, and failing to flirt with the majority of the guests, even with Abigail and Hosea, he seemed to have found his next object of desire.

The only person Arthur couldn't find in the group of people was Charles Smith. The florist had been talking to both Dutch and Hosea for quite a while but now he seemed to have vanished. Arthur frowned. He made a mental note to go back to his shop to thank him properly.

The door opened again and Miss Grimshaw came in, holding a flower bouquet and a box of pralines. "Arthur! The paintings look beautiful." She said loudly and pulled the artist into a bear hug.

Two days later he finally found the time to visit Charles in his flower shop again. The exhibition was going really well, lots of people showed their interest in his works and he managed to sell a couple of paintings. The last encounter with Charles had ended abruptly, when he stormed out of the shop, embarrassed and anxious that the florist might had seen what Arthur was doodling into his sketchbook.

He sat in the drivers seat of his car, the motor long shut off, and flipped the book open again with shaking hands. The page showed Charles. He was slightly hunched over as he sat on the old and wobbly table in the back of the shop, a huge bouquet in front of him. His handsome face was turned to Arthur with a small smile on his face as he held a flower towards the artist. It wasn't his best work but you could clearly make out who it was supposed to be and when Charles had asked him what he was drawing Arthur's brain had short-circuited and he fled. He had felt a strong connection to Charles, but then the memory of Mary hit him, of the ring that was still in his coat jacket somewhere because he couldn't get rid of it, and the feeling when she said she wanted to break things up and he ran.

Now he felt like it was time to apologise, in fact, he had took a few sips of whiskey beforehand to get some courage into himself. The artist took in a deep breath and opened the door to his car. He walked the short distance to the shop and pushed the front door open. The bell rang and a ginger head rose from the counter. "Welcome! Please come in!" The man said in a heavy irish accent. The shop seemed empty except for him. Arthur swall the lump in his throat down. "Uhm hi, I was looking for Charles. I'm- uh. Arthur Morgan." The irishman's eyes widened and a sheepish grin spread on his lips.

"Oh, so your Charles sweetheart huh?" Arthur blushed heavily. "His what? No, you must have gotten that wrong. I- I'm not-"

"Sean!" Another voice suddenly said. Charles was standing in the doorframe that connected the shop with the little room in the back, he was wearing a striped button down shirt and apron, his hands were caked in dirt. When his eyes spotted Arthur he quickly wiped them on his apron.

"Mister Morgan. What a surprise! I wasn't expecting you." He lowered his head, a single strand of black hair fell from his loose ponytail. Arthur swallowed the urge to tuck it behind Charles ear. "I uh yes I came for… a bouquet." Was that a hurt look on Charles face? Arthur wasn't sure but for a moment he thought he saw the half native americans face fall. "Of course, Mister Morgan." He took out a small notebook and pen. What kind of flowers should I include?"

"Some cloves maybe. Oh and geraniums and daisies." Arthur searched his memory for the names and meanings behind flowers. Charles had told him a lot of them on their first encounter but he had trouble remembering them. "Red Tulips." He blurted out and now he was certain he had seen Charles face fall. Oh no, oh no no no. Was all he could think of. This was a bad idea, really bad.

"And to what address should I send them?" Charles asked patiently although the hurt was clearly written on his face. "See, that's the thing. Uhm I was thinking you could make this bouquet for yourself?" His own voice sounded high and foreign in his ears as he said that. Charles eyes went wide, his mouth hungrily slightly open. "I- I don't understand." Charles said and then added. "You have a boyfriend!" He set the pen aside. Arthur frowned. "I- what?!" He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw him kiss you on the day of the gallery opening!" Charles sounded absolutely convinced he had seen Arthur with another man. "You mean Charles? Charles Châtenay?" Arthur slammed a hand against his own mouth. "Oh my god no! He's another artist. I've known for years."

"But he kissed you."

"He's french. He kisses all of his close friends. In fact he kisses a lot of people." Arthur said full of embarrassment. Charles shoulders slumped. "I feel like such an idiot." The florist said. Next to him, the irish man called Sean started to laugh uncontrollably. "You both are really big idiots you know that?" He heaved, still laughing. "Wait till I tell Mary Beth about this."

Charles shook his head and lead Arthur to the front door. Outside he still didn't let go of the artists arm. "I'm sorry. It was stupid to assume you had a boyfriend. I- I don't know what came into me. I guess I was hoping to get to know you better and-" He sighed deeply. "Forget it it was a stupid thing to begin with."

"No, absolutely not. Look, I really liked spending time with you and- and I got scared because my last relationship ended in a giant mess and I was afraid but now I'm not afraid anymore. I'm sorry for pushing you away at first." He used his free arm to raise Charles chin. The half native american was now looking him in the eyes. Dark brown, almost black eyes met blue ones. "Would you like to go on a date with me?" Arthur asked straight forward. Charles gasped. "Really?"

"Please say yes. You can bring the bouquet." The other man started to giggle. "You are a mess, Arthur Morgan."

"Indeed. But if you let me, I can be _your_ mess." And then he learned in to plant a gentle kiss on Charles soft lips.

The other man made a surprised noise in the back of his throat before he leaned in closer to deepen the kiss. It felt like an eternity had passed when they pulled apart again, both panting slightly. "So, dinner? Tomorrow?"

Charles smiled. "Sounds good to me."

**Author's Note:**

> Daisies - Attachment  
> Jasmine - Faithfulness  
> White Lily's - My love is pure  
> Red Tulips - I declare my love  
> Hundred leaved roses - Sincere love  
> Narcissus - Pride


End file.
